


Worm-Style Chocolate

by Thinker6



Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Gen, Horror, Humor, Superheroes, Supervillains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3909001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thinker6/pseuds/Thinker6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Worm one-shots like the best chocolate, dark and semi-sweet. Stories with varying mixes of humor and horror. Lots of appearances by creepy fellows like the Slaughterhouse Nine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Overpowered Amy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy gets what she wants.

Victoria Dallon glared at the Slaughterhouse Nine. "Foul villains! I'll never tell you the secret of Amy's power! Never!"

Jack Slash chuckled. "Good, good. You're getting into the spirit of things."

Victoria made a perfunctory attempt at loosening her bonds, but it was futile. Mannequin's superdense megamanacles didn't budge. "You'll never make me talk! Not in a million years!"

"So they say, so they say." mused Jack. "They all too often change their tune after a few minutes in Bonesaw's tender care."

Cherish rolled her eyes. "No need for the munchkin, Jack. Just let me zap her. She'll spill everything she knows, no deceptions or lies."

"Or a lick from Crawler's tongue." Jack continued. "Acid, digestive enzymes, poison...a single touch will leave you in excruciating agony."

"Why bother? Come on, just let me zap her." said Cherish.

"Shatterbird is another favorite. Have you ever imagined the feeling of a thousand shards of glass cutting into your-"

"What the hell is wrong with you! Just let me zap her!" cried Cherish.

"It's the principle of the thing." said Jack, as if that explained anything.

Cherish threw up her hands in frustration. "Morons! Always doing it the hard way. You're going to get us all killed." she said correctly.

"Help! Help! Someone save me!" cried Victoria.

The door to the warehouse slammed open, revealing the silhouette of a slim figure in a trenchcoat.

Amy Dallon, the most powerful hero in the world.

"The jig is up, villains." said the hero, her voice resolute and firm. "Unhand my sister or things get ugly."

"What?" cried Cherish. "How did you get so close without me sensing? Your emotional makeup, it's completely changed-"

"A word to the wise, Cherish." said Amy. "The Nine know you're playing them, and they've got a torture chamber with your name written on it. Back them up in this fight and you'll regret it."

"What?" cried Cherish. "How did you know-"

"Disappointing." sighed Jack. "But you're in the weaker position here, Amelia. If you make a move against us, your sister will pay the price."

"No. Not that." said Victoria, her voice flat and unconcerned."Anything but that. Save me Amy. Oh please save me."

Jack drew his knife. "Your sister won't save you this time, Victoria. We can take her."

Amy drew her guns. "Try me."

Jack slashed at Victoria's face. A gunshot rang out and Jack was left holding an empty knife handle. The knife's blade spun to the ground and embedded itself in the floor at his feet.

Jack frowned. He studied the empty handle, turning it over in his hands.

"Eek. Oh no. That was close." said Victoria blandly.

"Last chance, villains." said Amy.

Jack scowled and pointed at the hero, and the Slaughterhouse Nine charged.

...  
...

Cherish stared at the aftermath in disbelief. She had known that Amy Dallon was powerful, but this was ridiculous.

Shatterbird and Burnscar were dead, their bodies pierced by a hail of bullets.

Mannequin and Crawler were dead, their brains annihilated by Siberian's errant attacks. Crawler's death had even stuck, a wounded Hack Job getting tangled in his wound long enough to disable his regeneration.

Bonesaw and Hack Job were dead, incinerated at six thousand degrees fahrenheit by the failsafe suicide bomb from Cherish's necklace. That had been a close one. She'd forgotten to reset the bomb timer, so the hero had actually saved her life when she severed the bomb from its cord and used it as a weapon.

Siberian had been the next to die, simply flickering out of existence for no apparent reason. What the hell?

Jack Slash had been the last to go. He had tripped on Shatterbird's corpse and stumbled to the ground, impaling himself through the eye on his own blade, the same blade the hero had broken off his knife before the battle.

Sixty seconds, and the Slaughterhouse Nine had been reduced to the Slaughterhouse One.

Cherish smirked. She had outlived the bastards after all. And she didn't sense any hostility from the Dallons, so she would survive this sordid affair. All she had to do was surrender like a good girl and avoid ticking off the invincible hero.

"I surrender." said Cherish. "I'm not a psycho like those guys, I only joined up to get away from my fucked up dad. I helped you out in the fight, too. Can we make a deal to take me alive? Maybe send me to the Birdcage?"

Amy gave her a dry look. "You didn't help me so much as hide in the corner and cower. So, no."

She shot Cherish in the eye, bypassing her augmentations and killing her instantly.

Amy stood still for a moment, as though she was listening to a voice that only she could hear.

_Collect the key from Mannequin._

Amy fished in Mannequin's torso and pulled out a small black electromagnet.

_Free Victoria._

Amy pressed the magnet against the back of Victoria's superdense megamanacles. They fell loosely to the floor.

_Gloat._

"I have you now, my pretty." said Amy.

_Push forward with right index finger._

Amy raised her right hand menacingly.

Victoria's eyes widened. She tried to dodge the incoming attack, but resistance was futile.

"Beep." said Amy, poking Victoria on the tip of her nose.

Victoria wrinkled her nose. "Thanks for the save, sis."

"Welcome as always, Victoria. I couldn't have done it without you."

"Yup."

"The PRT are en route to confirm the kills. We'll be a hundred million dollars richer by tonight. We can buy the vacation home in San Diego you wanted, the one with the high-tech jacuzzi."

"Swell."

"I don't get what happened to Siberian, though. I was seriously afraid for a minute, I thought she might be immune to my power. It must have been the Claymore mines I rigged up on Lord's Street that killed her, but that was a mile away. Huh."

"Huh."

Amy paused her exposition and studied her sister's face. Victoria was frazzled, her platinum-blonde locks untidy, a stray hair resting on her cheek.

_Push forward with right index finger._

Amy raised her right hand...then put her hand back down to her side. Resisting her power. "You're not happy with me, Vicky. What's up?"

"Can't we fight crime another way? I'm tired of playing the damsel in distress."

"You know the rules, Vicky. You know how my power works."

"I know." Victoria folded her arms. "I'm saying, maybe we can try fighting crime with _my_ power for a change."

"Your power? Hmm." Amy looked at Victoria, looked at the remains of nine S-class supervillains, then looked back at Victoria. She raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, okay, point taken, but listen. How about this one. Okay. Have you ever thought about how your power is harmful to women's rights?"

Amy laughed. "What the hell? Women's rights?"

"I'm dead serious, Amy. The trope of the distressed damsel is toxic to equality between men and women."

"But I'm not a guy."

"Aha, yes, but! Once the 'distressed damsel' trope has been established as an emblem of asymmetrical male-female inter-relationships, any instance of the trope inevitably perpetuates the oppressive stereotype. Deviations from the parent trope merely lessen its harmful impact, they do not abolish it. So there!"

Amy frowned. "Sounds like you looked that up on wikipedia."

"Well, yeah, but to be fair I only got to read half of the entry before Mannequin kidnapped me."

Amy shook her head. "We've been over this, Vicky. We have to get you kidnapped by Nilbog and Sleeper next before we take a break. You _promised_. Miss 'I'll do anything it takes to protect the world from the bad guys'."

"I was twelve years old! I didn't think I'd be in for a lifetime of throwing myself into the clutches of murderous psychos! Mannequin's hands were totally clammy, and I had to listen to Jack's ranting for an hour, and-"

_Push forward with right index finger._

Amy poked Victoria on the nose. "Beep."

Victoria wrinkled her nose. "Knock it off, Ames. Look, what I'm saying is, you're paying for dinner tonight. Actually, make that the foreseeable future. Capisce?"

Amy sighed. Life was never easy for the wielder of the Path to Victoria.


	2. Slaughterhouse 9000 XXXL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nine become a bigger threat.

2012

Slaughterhouse Nine's Pocket Dimension

 

Bonesaw was sitting with her feet propped up on the table, a bowl of Frooty Toots on her stomach, when the alarm went off. She had known it was coming, but she couldn't help but feel a wave of shame and fear.

She had screwed up _really bad_ this time. And it was time to face the music.

The individual cases opened, and slowly but surely, the members of the current Slaughterhouse Nine stepped out.  Jack, Hookwolf, Skinslip, Night Hag. 

She could see the conscious effort on Jack’s part to maintain his composure.  He was barely able to stand.

Jack's eyes fixed on her.

Somehow, he knew.  She _knew_ he knew.  But that was no surprise.

“You’re awake,” he commented. His eyes moved upward, up to the Doomsday Clock on the wall. "It's early. A year to go, before our grand return."

Bonesaw shifted in place. She didn't have the heart to meet his eyes.

Jack's expression darkened. "Problems with the clones? Something you can't handle?"

"Yes and no. Not a _problem_ , as such, but..."

"You'll have to explain. It's not like you to be at a loss for words. One moment."

Jack moved to the closet to retrieve his clothes. For their part, the other members of the Nine didn't need them. Hookwolf simply encased himself in metal hooks growing from his skin. Skinslip was already clad in thick layers of human skin, his trophies taken from five capes and twenty five civilians. Night Hag, for her part, sank down into her cryogenics tube and took on her ghostly form, melding with her surroundings.

Bonesaw used the moment of reprieve to gather her thoughts. She had spent days practicing a speech. Excuses to mollify Jack, to save herself from his inevitable punishment. But she was as bad at speeches as she was at names. 

She'd decided to keep it simple, in the end. Show him the truth, don't try to cushion the blow, and hope for the best.

Jack fastened his belt, with the faint metallic sound of rustling knives, and turned back to her. "Now. Show me."

She led him to the room with the cloning vats. She spoke as they walked, her voice suffused with artificial cheer. "The cloning worked perfectly. There was some messiness, getting the memories right to make the clones connect to their passengers, but I found a fix soon enough. The clones turned out great. As good as the originals. _Better_ , even."

Jack nodded. "And the problem?"

She gave a nervous smile. "Well, uh, those DNA samples Blasto had. Seems like that Boston crime boss who got the samples from the PRT database, um, what was his name-"

"Accord."

"Right, Accord! Seems like Accord didn't trust Blasto. Naughty man, lying to my poor Blasto like that! Or maybe he made a big mistake and mislabeled his samples, or...well, anyway, the DNA from the old Slaughterhouse Nine members, it was all, uh..."

Jack fixed her with his gaze.

Bonesaw swallowed. "It's better if you see it for yourself." She pulled the giant lever she had installed in the wall of the vast cloning chamber.

_Lights._

Spotlights went on beneath each of the glass chambers.

_Drain._

The fluids poured out, draining into the openings in the floor.  Blurry figures became more distinct, marred only by the residual droplets clinging to the interior of each chamber.

Jack stared at the scene.

Two hundred and seventy five Chubster clones rose from their vats and stared back at him.

After a long minute of stillness, Bonesaw spoke to fill the silence. "It's not as bad as it looks, honest! Chubster has a really fascinating biology, did you know that? Accepts grafts twice as easy as normal, makes it a snap to do my mash-ups, and we have lots of perfectly good DNA to work with! The five of us, and the Toybox tinkers, and Blasto, and, um, and maybe-"

Jack slowly, ever so slowly, buried his face in his palms.

...

...

...

2013

San Diego

Golem stared out the window of the Dragonfly at the columns of smoke rising in the distance. After his battle with Jack, the villain had deemed his efforts _uninspiring_ and started a war on the world. The big-name heroes were defending the hardest-hit cities, but they were spread thin, far too thin. It was up to him and the junior heroes to make a miracle happen and hold back the second wave.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Weaver, her face unreadable behind her blue lenses.

"I know what you're thinking." said Weaver. "Don't let him get to you. You did _fine_. Jack's a cheating bastard."

"I know." said Golem. He began to say more, then closed his mouth. 

"Go ahead." said Weaver. "Two minutes 'till landing. Better to hash it out now, whatever doubts you have, before we start the mission."

Golem pursed his lips. "Do you think...does Jack think I'm fat?"

Weaver didn't laugh, thankfully. Golem continued. "Because when he confronted me two years ago, he said he couldn't imagine me giving him a good fight. He thought I was weak. Pudgy, out of shape. So all _this_...is this his idea of a joke? Irony?"

"It doesn't matter." said Weaver. "We know Jack leaves nothing to chance. What looks like the random whim of a madman is a calculated ploy to give him the upper hand. Tattletale and our other Thinkers haven't had any luck pinning down the hidden purpose of devious Chubster strategem, so all we can do is stay strong. Don't let him psych you out."

"It damn well _does_ matter." A young, female voice. Golem turned to his other partner for the mission. The fellow Ward who had been through her own version of hell in the last 24 hours.

"It matters," continued Auroch, her voice low and tight with hatred, "because if Jack made a thousand clones of my dad because of his power, we're going to track the bastard down and kick him in the nuts. But if he did it as a _joke_ , we're going to kick him in the nuts and _feed them to him_."

"Right." said Weaver. "The important thing is that we kick him in the nuts, either way." She paused. "And then we kill him, before he does whatever world-ending thing he's going to do. Don't forget the killing part."

"I know. The nut-kicking was a figure of speech." said Auroch. She put her hand to her ear, listening to a private message from Dragon, and gave a vicious smile. "My teammate Vellum cleared out the last of the Skinslip clones in New York. Says she's a Brute 7 now, should be coming to back us up in twenty five minutes."

Golem nodded. He felt the Dragonfly decelerating, descending to their drop point outside the city limits. Dragon announced his heroic mission:

_San Diego under attack by Chubster x8, Chub Hag x3, Chubwolf x2, Toy Chubster x2, Chubsaw x1, Chub Slash x1. Golem, Weaver, and Auroch engaging._

Golem took a deep breath, and headed for the door. It was time to save San Diego from the Chubpocalypse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some text adapted from Worm Interlude 25. Auroch and her skin-stealing teammate Vellum are from Wildbow's [PRT: Department Sixty Four](http://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/prt-department-sixty-four-thread-iii-worm-quest.310039/). More aggressive here, due to having their city wrecked by a hundred Chubster clones.


	3. The Siberian's New Backpack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some power combinations are way too dangerous.

"Do you like it, big sis? Do you? do you?"

The Siberian swung her new backpack onto her back. She carefully adjusted the straps to make sure the fit was snug. Then she smiled and patted Bonesaw on the head.

"Yay! Happy birthday, big sister!" cheered Bonesaw. She began to sing, her carefree voice innocent of tune, pitch, and copyright.

"Happy birthday to you!

"Happy birthday to you!

"Happy birthday dear Sibeeeeeerian!

"Happy birthday to you!"

Jack Slash watched the spectacle with a sense of gnawing dread. His Nine were unpredictable, that was the _point_ , he wanted them to _surprise_ him, but...there were limits. Places where even he dared not tread.

After all...there was such a thing as _taste_.

The Siberian's new backpack had been scavenged from a children's clothing store. It was bright neon pink and covered in cartoon drawings of stars, rainbows, ponies, and unicorns. Childish scrawls in red permanent marker had turned most of the cartoon animals into grotesque mutants and corpses leaking entrails. More red marker had been used to put a large, bold number 9 on each side.

On the back were two scribbled caricatures. One of a young girl's smiling face framed by curls. The other of a plain, featureless mask and a mechanical hand giving a thumbs up. Beneath was a message in florid cursive. "From Bonesaw and Manny with love."

Jack rubbed his temples and groaned. How had it come to this?

When he led the Nine into Brockton Bay he thought he had planned for every eventuality, prepared countermeasures for every cape. Evidently he had underestimated the locals. They were responsible for this atrocity. Somehow.

"Yay! Now it's time to blow out the candles, birthday girl!" cheered Bonesaw.

Siberian crouched and swung her arm, annihilating the candles that were embedded in the cake Bonesaw had baked for her. Then she began to eat.

"Do you like the recipe? My power isn't great for baking, I tried six times before it came out right. Took me almost eight hours."

The Siberian licked the blood off her fingers and nodded.

Bonesaw clapped her hands. "Great! Those Korowai really know their stuff." She took a step toward the black and white woman and spoke in a wheedling voice. "By the waaaaay...you'd better get _me_ something really nice for _my_ birthday."

The Siberian nodded.

"And not another frat house, this time. Put some thought into it like Manny and I did."

The Siberian hesitated, then reluctantly nodded.

Jack had had enough of the saccharine spectacle. Too much neon pink. It was giving him a headache. "Bonesaw."

"Yes, Jack?"

"What's in the backpack?"

Bonesaw gave him a mischevous smile. "I thought you liked puzzles, Jack."

"I do, Bonesaw, I do. I can't say I appreciate the...ostentatious color, but if you meant to give me an intellectual challenge..."

"It's not for _you_. It's for sis. A secret gift from Manny and me, for sis's eyes only." she said solemnly.

"Ah. Yet Mannequin is absent from our party."

"It's a _secret_. No hints."

"Hmm." Jack regarded the backpack with a critical eye. "It's built to last a hundred years or more, despite its cheap appearance. I recognize Mannequin's work. It's not something you planned. I'm certain you acquired all the materials in Brockton Bay."

Bonesaw nodded. "It was all Manny's idea. He got _inspired_."

Jack scratched his head. Whatever could it be...?

...

Inside the backpack, William Manton smiled. He had always chafed at staying in hiding, experiencing his Siberian's predations second-hand through their shared sensations.

Now he could do it in safety. Surrounded by the backpack made invincible by his Siberian's power, and with his own flesh made invulnerable by his new eternal companion's power. Now he had truly joined his Siberian in the flesh, and he swore to stay by her side. _Forever, and ever, and ever..._

Inside William Manton's torso, the disembodied head of Othala smiled. She didn't remember very much of her past, about who she had been before the red mist got to her. But she was grateful to the cheerful little girl for souping up her power and introducing her to her new best friends. The nice puppet man, who made it so that she would live forever! The black and white striped woman and her sweet, doting father, who were making her invulnerable!

She appreciated their help so much that she had promised to use her power to make her new friends invulnerable in return, and to give them flight and super speed whenever they wanted. _Forever, and ever, and ever..._

Inside Othala's skull, crammed in next to her brain, Alan Gramme's neural networks...well, they didn't smile. They weren't hooked up to any effectors. But they would have smiled, if they could have.

His plan was perfect. He could carry out his mission of ending the world's hopes better than ever, now. Hidden inside Othala's head, which was hidden inside the invulnerable Manton, which was hidden inside the Siberian's invincible backpack. _Walled in, perfectly and absolutely. Forever, and ever, and ever..._

...

Jack rubbed his temples and groaned. "Bonesaw. Do you remember the rules?"

"I do! No epidemics, no city killers without permission, no self-replicating flesh gardens unless I pinky swear they're obedient." She huffed. "I swear, I make _one_ mistake as a kid and you treat me like I'm a kid for the rest of my life."

"Ah. There's your problem. You forgot the most important rule."

"Um, really? What's that?"

"Don't make Siberian even _more_ invincible."

The Siberian finished her cake. She stood and stretched, then adjusted the straps on her cheerful neon pink backpack.

She wore broad smile. Her weaknesses were gone. No longer tied to a vulnerable human body, no longer bound by the oppressive force of gravity. Simply overwhelming strength that passed through all obstacles without resistance. She had always been free, but now she was _free_.

She could go anywhere. Do anything. Pursue her deepest desires that she had dreamed of since the day she was born from William Manton's mind years ago.

The Siberian scanned the horizon. New York was...thatta way. Close at hand. Good. She engaged her backpack's super speed and her own physics-warping power, and ran down the highway into oncoming traffic at a sedate hundred and thirty miles an hour, annihilating all the cars she passed through as she went.

She'd spent a pleasant few years palling around with her friends in the Slaughterhouse, but she'd always had a creeping feeling that she'd been slacking in her duties. She had been holding back her Wonderful Worldwide Snack Tour long enough. It was time to get serious.

It was time to eat _everyone_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to [gammoregan and Seclorum](http://forums.spacebattles.com/posts/17242734/) from spacebattles for their Optimal Backpack Layering advice!


	4. The Magnificent Marbled Master of Brockton Bay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armsmaster gets a different kind of mastery.

Shadow Stalker carried another sack of money out of the bank vault and into the lobby, keeping a wary eye on the hostages. The civvies were still appropriately cowed by Bitch's dogs. Good. This was her first job as a member of the Undersiders and she wasn't going to let anything screw it up.

She tossed the sack of money into Angelica's dog harness. She went back into the vault to fill another bag of goodies, but spun at a burst of curse words behind her.

"God damn it!" shouted Grue. "The Wards are here, and _he's_ with them. I'm going to kick your ass, Tattletale, if we get out of this."

Shadow Stalker and Tattletale came forward to peer through a small gap Grue opened in his darkness, while Bitch and Regent kept up their work in the vault. 

She suppressed a gasp. The Wards were out in force. Clockblocker, Vista, Browbeat. The newest recruit, Ladybug, a thin figure in a black costume surrounded by a teeming swarm of insects.

And standing behind them all, a towering, muscular figure in a red and white marbled costume, that revealed only his neatly trimmed beard and the thin line of his mouth. He stood ramrod straight, his arms folded. A solid wall of resolve, undaunted and unmoved by the forces of injustice.

The leader of the Protectorate East-Northeast. The greatest hero in Brockton Bay.

_Baconmaster._

The great hero nodded, as if to acknowledge the presence of the villains, and began his attack. 

Behind him, strips of bacon began to materialize in the air and fall to the ground. Slowly at first, then in a continuous stream, then a _deluge_.

Crispy crunchy bacon, lightly cooked tender bacon, undercooked greasy bacon, overcooked black-charred bacon, fatty white-marbled bacon, lean solid red bacon, any and every and all kinds of bacon under the sun, forming a massive mound behind him-

Grue hurriedly closed the gap in his darkness, cutting off the hero's line of sight.

"What the fuck is he doing?" said Shadow Stalker. "He's making bacon out there but we're in here. He can't make his bacon move, right? He's not a baconkinetic-"

"No. Baconmaster's trying to intimidate us." said Grue. "And signal to the civilians. The civvies see a three story tall pile of bacon, they know to keep away from the crime scene."

"Remember our precautions. He can't touch us." said Tattletale.

Shadow Stalker nodded. They were all wearing skin-tight costumes. Baconmaster couldn't materialize bacon inside a person's body, but he could conjure slippery, greasy strips of bacon between the layers of a costume, weighing his target down and obstructing their movement. An unguarded face would let him create bacon strips projecting into open mouths and nostrils, incapacitating his targets as they gagged to clear their bacon-filled orifices. 

She suppressed an involuntary shiver. When Baconmaster had shut down her vigilante career, her loose-fitting hockey mask had nearly gotten her captured. He had materialized a solid wall of bacon between her face and her mask, leaving her blinded and gagging on a mouthful of greasy strips of bacon while he trapped her in bacontainment foam.

Grue called out to the team. "Stay alert. He'll try to trip us up with bacon underfoot and block our path with baconwalls."

"Not a problem." said Tattletale. "He's trying to track us with his secondary power, by sensing the vacant bacon-shaped spaces in the bank, but your darkness blocks his bacon-sense."

"Good." said Grue. "Stick with the plan. Baconmaster can't get us in here, and by the time we're out we'll be on the dogs and Stalker will be a shadow. Too hard for him to trip us up."

Regent strode out of the vault carrying a heavy sack of stolen goods. But his gait was strange. Awkward and bow-legged.

"What the fuck?!" Regent cried. He staggered and leaned against the wall.

Between his legs, his pants were writhing. The crotch of his pants bulged, stretched, and the fabric began to tear, revealing a massive, bloated ball of-

_Bacon._

Shadow Stalker laughed. Regent must have worn his pants too loose, left too much empty space between his pants and his underclothes. Baconmaster had taken advantage and conjured bacon inside. First firm, stiff strips of bacon, conjured in curled shapes that immediately sprung outward to widen the crevice. Then more strips of bacon to fill the newly opened space, and then more, and then more, until there was a baconball the size of a pineapple between his legs.

"That's what you get for wearing tights, gay boy." she said.

"Fuck you, Stalker. I like my legs loose and limber. It makes me feel free." 

"Doesn't look free to me." she chuckled. The baconball in his pants was the size of a volleyball, now, and the fabric of Regent's tights was threatening to tear.

"Hold still." said Grue. He unsheathed a knife from his belt and slashed the bulging crotch of Regent's pants. The pants split apart, spilling a flood of greasy, limp bacon strips onto the floor.

"How's Baconmaster tracking us?" demanded Grue. 

"I don't know!" said Tattletale. "Your darkness blocks his bacon-sense, he shouldn't be able to-"

Tattletale's eyes went wide. "The bugs! Ladybug's spotting for him!"

Shadow Stalker reflexively shifted into her shadow state. A half-dozen flies slid off her costume and fluttered confusedly through her gaseous body.

Grue tried to sheath his knife, only to find the sheath jammed with a greasy strip of bacon. A fat housefly was crawling on the knife sheath, buzzing in triumph.

Grue crushed the fly, then yanked the bacon strip away and threw it to the floor. A new fly immediately landed to replace the dead one, and the sheath was jammed with another bacon strip before he could secure his knife.

He swore. "We're going, now. Stick to the plan. Tattle, which way do we go?"

Tattletale peered through a small hole Grue opened in the darkness."...Left. Take a sharp left then head West. Clockblocker is setting up a trap just to the right of the exit."

Grue nodded, then hoisted himself onto Angelica's back, followed by Bitch. "Regent, Tattle, get on the dogs. Shadow, you're running interference. Cover our backs, then meet us at the hideout when you're done. If you're followed, take to the sewers." He wagged a finger sternly. "No taking stupid risks to get in a 'parting shot' this time, okay?"

Shadow Stalker gave a sarcastic salute. "Whatever you say, boss."

Grue gave a pained sigh. He turned to the hostages and raised his voice. "Listen up, ladies and gentlemen! It's time to go. Just like we told you. You're all going to stand up and walk, do not run, out to the heroes outside the bank. Now go!"

As planned, the civilians were too afraid to follow his instructions to the letter. Chaos. They spilled out of the bank doors in a disorderly mob, some walking slowly in an attempt to follow the villain's orders, others trying to run and pushing each other aside, all spilling out toward the line of heroes.

The heroes froze, unsure how to react. Before they could make a move, Grue sent out a billowing tide of darkness that blanketed the civilians and advanced on the heroes, further deepening their uncertainty.

"Go, go, go!" Grue ordered.

Shadow Stalker phased into her shadow state and leaped through a window, keeping clear of the darkness that would interfere with her power. She glanced to the right, crossbows raised, and took aim at the trap the heroes had set.

Clockblocker stood twenty feet in the air, running back and forth above the street and _dancing_ as if he was possessed. He spun and twirled, his arms extended and slapping at the air. Every time one of his feet pushed down, a giant three foot long strip of bacon materialized below his foot and instantly froze in place, giving him a new foothold to support his weight. Every time one of his hands slapped the air, another giant strip of bacon appeared to reinforce the great mesh of floating bacon strips he had constructed to block off the street.

_An axiomatically impenetrable wall of bacon._

Clockblocker double-jumped, vaulting off of bacon footholds each time, and started another tier to his baconwall thirty feet above street level. Too tall for Bitch's dogs to jump over. If they had followed their original escape route, if Tattletale hadn't caught the trap, they would have been screwed.

The doors to the bank blasted open, muffled by Grue's darkness, and Bitch's dogs burst out carrying the Undersiders. They took a sharp left and charged down the street.

The heroes were still hanging back, occupied by the hostages, but Browbeat broke away and rushed forward to block their path. He could stop the dogs if he got in a solid hit. His point-blank telekinesis let him punch with the force of a freight train.

Shadow Stalker leaped forward and fired two bolts at Browbeat from her crossbows. Her aim was perfect. The bolts phased past his point-blank telekinetic defense and materialized in his body, one in his arm, another in his leg.

Browbeat staggered and went down. Good. Not lethal shots. His biokinesis should let him survive even if her bolts hit something vital, but she didn't want to start a blood feud by killing a hero.

Shadow Stalker kneeled, briefly releasing her shadow state to reload her crossbows with her special rounds, then leaped toward the other heroes. Drawing their attention while the Undersiders made their escape.

The instant she moved toward the heroes, Baconmaster turned to her and pointed. She felt material appear inside of her gaseous form, as if she was passing through a heavy rain or hail. _Bacon strips_. Not enough to stop her, as long as she kept moving, but enough to slow her down and throw off her aim.

Good. She had their attention. She fired her special rounds, one after another. They phased out of the shadow state and exploded into giant balls of colorful mist, smearing the heroes with bright neon pink paint.

She smirked. If the heroes weren't blinded outright, they would be too distracted by their new makeover to follow her team. Grue's cloud of darkness was blanketing a full city block, now, and was growing bigger with every minute. The heroes would never be able to track them.

Shadow Stalker gave a last look at the routed heroes and prepared to make her escape-

Wait. The heroes were up to something. Vista and Ladybug were standing side by side, and Ladybug was pointing into the darkness. 

Right. Ladybug could track them with her bugs. But that shouldn't be a problem. Ladybug's range was a few blocks at most, and Vista's landscape warping was too slow to stop the dogs once they got going.

What was Vista doing? The young heroine was holding a small red and white colored ball in one hand, with a grip like a bowling ball. She took four quick steps forward and bowled the ball into the darkness, its trajectory twisting and swerving under the influence of her space warping. It didn't resemble any PRT-approved munitions she was aware of...

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Shadow Stalker realized that Baconmaster's massive, stories-high pile of bacon had disappeared. And she knew exactly where it had gone.

_A titan-class baconball._

There was an explosion of sound and color from within the darkness. Shadow Stalker caught a glimpse of Angelica and her riders thrown high in the air. Engulfed in a massive six-story tall fountain of bacon, as Vista dispelled her space warping power and returned the baconball to its original size.

Grue's darkness thinned and dissipated, revealing a gargantuan bacon pile that stretched across the entire street. Only a giant dog's weakly thrashing tail gave a clue that the Undersiders were trapped inside. 

Fuck. Grue was down, and she had no way to dig him out before the heroes caught up. 

Shadow Stalker hesitated, weighing her options. She felt the faint sensation of a swarm of gnats passing through her gaseous form. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ladybug standing next to Vista, pointing directly at her. 

Vista took three quick steps and let loose a grapefruit-sized red and white ball rolling along the ground directly toward her. Shit! _Another one._

There was no time to react. Shadow Stalker leapt in the air, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the bacon bowling ball. She spread her cape with her arms and leaned at an angle, veering to change the course of her flight, but it was too late, too late.

The bowling ball exploded, and then her world was bacon.

...  
...

Baconmaster stood before the captured villains, his arms folded, his stern expression revealed only by the thin, grim line of him mouth.

"You've been very bad boys and girls. Robbing a bank is a serious crime. Your worst crime yet. You should be thankful we caught you now, before you escalated to something worse and made us get rough with you."

Shadow Stalker groaned. This didn't count as 'rough'? She struggled with her bonds, but the bacontainment foam didn't budge.

"Fortunately, my Wards were more than up to the task." continued Baconmaster proudly. "Vista and Clockblocker, good work with the baconballs and baconwalls. Ladybug, excellent spotting. Browbeat...better luck next time."

Browbeat groaned and rubbed his wounds.

"Why were you here, Baconmaster?" said Tattletale. "You weren't suppossed to get here for thirty minutes at the earliest."

Baconmaster smiled and nodded to Panacea. The heroine was in civilian clothes, patching up the people who were hurt in the scuffle. "I got a personal call from a concerned citizen."

Tattletale's eyes widened. "Shit! She was one of the hostages."

"God damn it, Tattle." growled Grue.

"Sorry. I missed her completely." said Tattletale. She turned to Panacea. "You're wearing your hair differently today. I liked it better the old way. The ponytail is a no-go. Keep your hair loose and fluffy, it brings out your eyes."

Panacea scowled. "If I want fashion advice from a villain, I'll ask for it. Hostage-taking assholes. It's going to take three wash cycles to get the mutant dog slobber out of my jeans."

Baconmaster strode to the healer's side and rested a comforting, muscular hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay, Panacea?"

Panacea blushed and dipped her head, then looked up at him with a beaming smile. "I am now."

Tattletale looked back and forth between the two heroes. She smirked and opened her mouth to speak. "Hey, Panacea. I bet you'd like to know if _mffgrmffrble!_ "

With a snap of Baconmaster's fingers, Tattletale's mouth filled with a mass of crunchy bacon strips. "No talking, miss Thinker 7. Say what you will during your interrogation, but I won't let you subject an innocent heroine to your manipulations."

Panacea smiled and gave Baconmaster's hand a squeeze. "My hero."

Tattletale sullenly chewed on her bacon.

Next to her, Shadow Stalker spoke up. "Hey, aren't you going to heal Browbeat? I fucked him up worse than any of the civvies."

Browbeat shook his head. "No need. I can fix myself with biokinesis. I just need the biomass. Boss, can you bacon me?"

Baconmaster snapped his fingers, and a huge stack of greasy bacon strips appeared in Browbeat's massive fist. Browbeat raised the bacon to his lips, unhinged his jaw, and stuffed the baconwad inside and began to chew, rivulets of grease dripping down his jaw.

Four fifths of the Undersiders recoiled. "That is the most disgusting thing I've seen in my life." said Regent.

"Nah." said Shadow Stalker with an admiring shake of her head. "It's pretty badass, demolishing a pound of bacon in a single bite like that."

Browbeat nodded enthusiastically in mid-chew. "Th' joyffs offf biokineffiff!"

"If you say so, nutball." said Regent. "Say, are you going to heal me? I got my face scraped up pretty bad when your bacon bombs threw me off my noble steed."

Panacea pursed her lips. "Fine. But only so you're in better shape for interrogation. Ladybug, can you give me some bug biomass?"

A swarm of cockroaches crawled up the bacontainment foam and onto Regent's face. Panacea touched them and they melted into his flesh, repairing his wounds.

Regent shivered. "Yuck. Healing me with roaches. Are you turning me into a bug-borg?"

Panacea shook her head. "If anything, you'll be a bacon-borg."

"Bacon?"

"Where do you think her bugs come from?" Panacea pointed.

Regent turned his head to follow her finger. On the street, the massive, six-story piles of bacon had changed color. They were solid black. Black with swarms of millions of feasting bugs. 

A biological waste disposal system. The bugs would eat the tons of bacon, then scurry off into the sewers, from which Ladybug would lead them out of town and into the countryside, where a new generation of bacon-spawned bugs would be born.

Regent stared. "Opinion revised. _That_ is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen. And that's saying a lot."

"It's the cycle of life." said Panacea. She stood and stretched. "Aaaand done. Don't bother trying to escape. Your arms and legs will be paralyzed for the next four hours. Plenty of time to get you locked up."

Baconmaster nodded, and gestured to the PRT troopers to load the villains into the vans. He clapped his hands to get his Wards' attention.

"So! Another gang successfully foiled! Good work team, and thanks to Panacea for the assist. We'll be doing the PR briefing for the media this evening at 4 PM, so be sure to clean up your costumes and look presentable."

Baconmaster grinned and rubbed his hands together. "Now, let's head back to headquarters for a hearty lunch in celebration of our victory. Who's up for a round of my world-famous BLTs?"

The Wards groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Colin Wallis gets Baconmancer's power from [Special People by Tim Sevenhuysen](http://specialpeople.timsevenhuysen.com/2014/05/client-management/). Only being Colin, he uses it _much_ more effectively. Especially since the Bacon Materialization shard gives him less psychological baggage. Just don't insult his cooking.


End file.
